Draco Gets Kidnapped by the Three Tenors, Part I
by HermioneMew
Summary: Draco's legendary voice has attracted the attentions of J. Carreras, P. Domingo, and L. Pavarotti...what will happen?


Draco Malfoy Gets Kidnapped by the Three Tenors   
(isn't that an incredibly imaginative title?)  
by Hermione/Mew  
  
Once upon a time, Draco Malfoy was skipping along a dirt road singing the Rhinemaidens' Joy in the Gold leit-motif (Rhine-gold! Rhine-gold! Heia jaheia! Heia jahei!) without a care in the world.  
  
All of a sudden, Placido Domingo, José Carreras, and Luciano Pavarotti appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him. Draco fainted and did not wake up until many hours later.  
  
MANY HOURS LATER  
  
"Where am I?" he asked involuntarily, before realizing no one was in the room with him. Draco studied his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit, roomy cave with dirt walls and he was seated on a stool, tied up in ropes.  
  
A few moments later, the three tenors came back in, yelling at each other. Draco heard the words "Va' lá che se' une gran uccel!" (I think you are a large bird!) Luciano Pavarotti had a piece of parchment in one hand.  
  
"Hey kid," called José Carreras, "help us write your ransom note!"  
  
"One thing at a time!" said Draco. "First, what am I doing here? Why on earth did you kidnap me?"  
  
"No reason," said Placido Domingo airily, with an odd smile. "We just felt like snatching some blonde kid off a road."  
  
"Not only that!" added José. "We also were bored! And we thought you might have a safety pin-mmph!" Placido Domingo slammed a hand over José's mouth.  
  
"Don't you dare go getting obsessed with the safety pin again! I'm warning you!" hissed Placido.  
  
"Gmmph mmph mmph......!!!"  
  
José licked Placido's hand, and they started rolling around and hitting each other. Draco began to be frightened.  
  
"ANY-way..." said Luciano Pavarotti, glaring at the other two. "We'll untie you, and you can write your ransom note."  
  
"Ransom?!" asked Draco, bewildered. "Cool! I love ransom! How much does my father have to pay?"  
  
"Uhhhh, if we'd decided that, why would we ask you to write the ransom?" asked Pavarotti.  
  
"I dunno!" said Draco, shrugging. He took the parchment and conjured up a quill. He began to write.  
  
Dear Father,  
Hello. Do not worry about me. I am actually having a good time, although I've been captured by the three tenors. They are a rather amiable bunch. They want me to write this ransom note and I don't know how much I should ask you for.  
  
Draco looked up at the three tenors.  
  
"Now how much should I ask for?"  
  
"Ask him to give me a night-light," said Placido Domingo.  
  
Draco stared at him oddly, but tried to mask it with a sympathetic look.  
  
"You're scared of the dark?" he inquired. Placido Domingo nodded, and shivered all over, reminding Draco of Peter Pettigrew, the pantophobiac (one who is scared of everything.)  
  
"Yes, I'm scared of the dark, and...and..." Placido started trembling even worse. "And I'm scared of bats, and frogs, and mice, and big alley cats, and lions, and moths, and spiders, and-and-José in his line-dancing skirt..."  
  
Draco laughed, but turned it into a coughing fit.  
  
"José Carreras can-cans?" he asked, trying as hard to possible to sound polite.  
  
"Yes, he does," said Pavarotti. "Which reminds me, José, your pink-and-yellow can-can skirt really needs to be washed."  
  
"Okay, I'll wash it," said José Carreras absentmindedly. "Perhaps I shouldn't have worn it while mud wrestling..."  
  
Draco thought about adding a P.S. in German to his father that told him how frightening the tenors were. Then it occurred to him that any of the tenors might know German from their opera experience. He couldn't risk it.  
  
"Okay," said Draco to himself, "scratch that idea..." He continued writing his ransom note.  
  
Please give the tenors 55 danari (37.5 Galleons) each. They will donate the money to  
  
Draco realized he was not sure of this.  
  
"Are you gonna donate the ransom money to charity?" asked Draco.  
  
The three tenors had a whispered conference and then nodded in unison.   
  
"Okay, you're donating it...which charity?" asked Draco.  
  
"Er, how about S.O.I.P.W.A.P.?" suggested José.  
  
"S.O.I.P.W.A.P.? What does that stand for? I forgot," said Pavarotti.  
  
"Don't you remember?" gasped José. "The Society Of Intelligent People Who Abhor Potter! We're members, remember?"  
  
"Members remember," mumbled Draco. "That sort of rhymes..."  
  
"Remember to ask for my night-light!" said Placido.  
  
Draco continued writing.  
  
They will donate the money to S.O.I.P.W.A.P., or the Society Of Intelligent People Who Abhor Potter.  
Your son, Draco  
  
"Wait a minute...should I put a P.S.?"  
  
Draco thought a moment. Perhaps he should write a P.S. in German after all, like he'd wanted to. Would the tenors ever read the note or the P.S.? They had no reason to, unless Placido Domingo wanted to make sure Draco had mentioned his night-light. And knowing Placido, he would probably be scared to read the note, just like he was scared of everything else in the universe.  
  
P.S. Questa gente son pazze...diese Leute sind verrückt...ha'anashim ha'ele meshuggaim...THESE PEOPLE ARE CRAZY HELP ME!!!   
P.S.S. Placido Domingo wants you to throw a night-light into the ransom. He's afraid of the dark, you see.  
  
After Draco finished writing, Pavarotti asked him, "Just out of curiosity, what's your voice range? Are you an alto? Maybe alto extended?"  
  
Draco smirked in response.  
  
"Colaratura," he said grandly. The next minute, Draco could truthfully say he had seen three grown men swoon like Christine Daaé and have to be fanned with handkerchiefs in order to revive them.  
  
"Ohhhh, colaratura???" moaned José Carreras, still half-unconscious. Draco dropped him back on the floor and went looking for some water so he could dump it on Pavarotti's ugly hairy head.  
  
Once all the tenors were back to normal (or as close to normal as those guys ever get) they demanded Draco to demonstrate his ability.  
  
"Can you give us a Mozart aria?" begged Placido. "I'm so sick of José and his big fancy verismo arias." He stuck out his tongue at José. José stuck out his tongue back.  
  
Draco grinned insanely.  
  
"Je commence (I am beginning) ...Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen, Tod und Verzweiflung flammet um mich her! Fühlt nicht durch dich Sarastro Todesschmerzen, so bist du meine Tochter nimmermehr!" After that, Draco began the manical laughter interval, and Placido Domingo swooned again. Pavarotti caught him.  
  
"Verstoßen sei auf ewig, sei auf ewig verlassen, zertrümmert sei'n auf ewig, alle Bande der Natur! Wenn nicht durch dich Sarastro wird erblassen! Hört, Rachegötter! Hört der Mutter Schwur!"  
  
"Congratulations!" said Pavarotti, slapping Draco on the back like Sumita's uncle who goes 'He-LLO Su-MI-ta!!!!!!!!'  
  
"Yeah, thanks," said Draco, with an arrogant smile. He was so proud of his status as the only male coloratura in the world.  
  
"Are all your family singers?" inquired José Carreras, rather unhappily, because Pavarotti had thrown the still-unconscious Placido Domingo in his lap.  
  
"Yes," said Draco, happy for another opportunity to brag. "My mother's a soprano, but there's only one directress who can put up with her, and my father's a tenor-"  
  
"TENOR?!" said everyone, suddenly hopping up, even Placido Domingo.  
  
"Yes, tenor," Draco pronounced coolly. "And when we send that ransom note, chances are he'll show up in the flesh to rescue me and then you can test his abilities. Father's incredibly competitive, but not at all as arrogant as I am."  
  
"So you get your arrogance from your mother?" asked Pavarotti bluntly.  
  
"Of course she's arrogant. Her name is Narcissa."  
  
"I suppose your father's name is Narcissus?" snickered Pavarotti.  
  
"No. Lucius. Named after the son of Titus Andronicus."  
  
Placido Domingo began to swoon again, but José Carreras smacked him upside the head and yelled some very rude things in alternating Spanish and Italian. Draco caught some English words:  
  
"Placido, if you dare faint one more time, I'll tell the whole world you're a woman in disguise AND I'll set the vampire bats on you!"  
  
"Nooooo!" shrieked Placido Domingo. "Not the bats! Anything but the bats!"  
  
Draco smiled and took out his wand. He muttered a spell and a small fruit bat, not a vampire bat, was flying around in the dim light.  
  
"Eek! It's a bat! Hide me!" cried Placido, crawling around hyperactively and resembling a rhino.  
  
"Does the bat can-can too?" said José suddenly. "I could can-can with it!"  
  
"Nooooo! José, you've joined the dark side! You're evil! You want to do the can-can with a bat! Nooooooo!"  
  
Draco waved his wand again and the bat disappeared.  
  
"Oh, magnificent Male-Colaratura-in-Black-Dress-Robes, I humble myself before thee!" said Placido, collapsing onto the ground.  
  
"How could his parents name a nervous wreck like that 'Placido'?" mumbled José Carreras.  
  
"Can we send my ransom note now?" whined Draco.  
  
"I'm sending it!" said Pavarotti, who had folded the note into a paper airplane and was currently engaged in heaving it out the window. Draco watched the airplane float away.  
  
"Are you tired?" asked José.  
  
"Yeah, kinda. Why?"  
  
"I want to go to sleep early today," he whispered. "It gives me a chance to avoid Placido and all his phobias." José shook his head, making his girlish black hair quiver. "He has every phobia ever invented. Claustrophobia, insectophobia, arachnophobia, dentophobia, archibutyphobia..."  
  
"What's archibutyphobia?" asked Draco curiously.  
  
"It means a fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth," gasped Placido Domingo, shuddering at the mere thought. Pavarotti stuck a finger down his throat.  
  
"How do you spell that...?" asked Draco, overwhelmed.  
  
"We invented a way to remember that," said José. "You just remember this sentence:  
  
Asinine  
Red  
Cats  
Have  
Icy  
Butts  
Under  
Their  
Yellow  
Pancreases  
Helping  
Old  
Bards  
Illustrate  
Anguish."  
  
"Um, that made no sense, all right, guys...?" said Draco, edging away.  
  
"Don't mind him," said Pavarotti in a whisper, taking Draco by the arm. "Those two are insane. I'm insane, too, but I'm the most normal because at least I KNOW I'm insane..."  
  
Draco didn't answer.  
  
"What time is it?" he asked softly.  
  
"Erm...10:57 P.M. Wanna go to bed?"  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
"Here, you can take that room. We usually let prima donnas use that when they come to visit us..."  
  
"Speaking of which," said Draco animatedly, "why do you live in a dirt lodge? Do any of you think tenor/soprano romances are silly? How did you meet each other? Do you ever have guest stars at Three Tenors recitals?..."  
  
"Patience, little friend!" said Pavarotti, laughing insanely. "You can ask me all these questions tomorrow. And we can also make fun of José and Placido. Won't that be great?"  
  
"Yeah," said Draco happily. "Yeah, that'll be great." Draco was glad that he had made a new friend.  
  
THE NEXT DAY  
  
Draco awoke to the sound of José skipping around his bedroom singing "La donna è mobile". He sighed heavily and walked over.  
  
"Er, José? Sir?" he asked timidly.  
  
José Carreras stopped singing long enough to say, "Yes?" and continued right after that.  
  
"Ummmm, you're, ummmm...being kind of loud..."  
  
"DO I CARE?! I AM DON QUIXOTE, GALLANANCHA, LORD OF LA MANCHA! HA HA HA!...LA DONNA È MOBILE..."  
  
Draco sighed.   
  
"Crazy person..." he walked off to the room where he'd been tied up yesterday. Luciano Pavarotti was standing by the window.  
  
"Hello, Draco!" he said. "How was your night?"  
  
"It was good, but...does José always wake everyone up like that?"  
  
"Yup. He's our rooster."  
  
Draco snickered, and for many years after this incident, he simply could not shake the image of José Carreras with green tail feathers and a red comb and wattle.  
  
"So...did my father answer the ransom note yet?" asked Draco, as Pavarotti's eyes went back to scanning the sky.  
  
"Any minute now. We'll just wait calmly, no sense getting all edgy."  
  
This was the most intelligent remark Draco had heard from any of the tenors in the almost 48 hours he'd been in their company.  
  
Soon, Placido woke up and threw a banana at José so that he would can it for cryin' out loud. José decided to cry out loud and in the end, Draco had to help Placido and Pavarotti tie him up and play Puccini operas. In the end they had mercy and switched to Mozart.  
  
"Hey! Look!" said Draco, pointing out the window. "It's a Phantom F-4!"  
  
"No, that's your father's reply to your ransom note!" corrected José, wriggling in his bonds.  
  
Draco snatched the paper Phantom F-4 as it flew in and unfolded it.  
  
Dear Draco, Kidnapped by the three tenors??? My goodness, you are one of the   
luckiest boys of your generation!!! The money will be coming soon  
along with me. (Maybe José Carreras wouldn't mind a little contest...???)  
I must know!!!  
  
Father  
  
P.S. Draco, h/m's finished choosing singers for her performance of "Das Rheingold". The cast list is as follows. (You're playing Woglinde.)  
  
Fricka- Ginny Weasley (Note: J.K. Rowling's character)  
Freia-Your mother  
Wotan- Harry Potter (S.O.I.P.W.A.P. sounds like a nice charity, hee hee)  
Loge- Me =)  
Donner- Sirius Black  
Froh- Arthur Weasley =(  
Alberich-That lecherous bungee cord, Mr. Delacour  
Mime- Peter Pettigrew (evil!)  
Fafner and Fasolt- Ron Weasley and Voldemort  
Flosshilde- Fleur Delacour  
Wellgunde- Mrs. Delacour, the wife of that lecherous bungee cord  
  
Draco hugged the letter. He was happy to be hearing from Lucius Malfoy again. He was starting to miss home.  
  
"Who's h/m?" asked Placido, confused.  
  
"That's the girl who's going to go blind because she spends too much time on the computer," said Draco matter-of-factly. h/m slapped him with a piece of steak to make him stop ridiculing her.  
  
"Is she a director or something? Are your parents part of an opera company?" persisted Placido.  
  
"Ummm, yes, all three of us are in an opera company..."  
  
That was possibly the most unfortunate sentence Draco had ever spoken in his whole life. Placido and José started pestering him with questions. Draco, who was fuming at himself and the two tenors, answered all of their inquiries calmly.  
  
Eventually, Pavarotti rescued Draco and took him out of the cave for a moment so they could walk around outside and do the things normal people do, which basically means not doing the things José Carreras and Placido Domingo liked to do. Those people are not normal.  
  
"Isn't this a nice place?" asked Pavarotti. Draco nodded. The cave was somewhere in a sort of forest. It reminded Draco of the forest where Siegfried supposedly met the Wood-bird that told him to rescue Brünnhilde.  
  
"Mr. Pavarotti?" Draco asked timidly.  
  
"Call me Luciano."  
  
"OK...Luciano, is it normal for someone my age to know so much about Norse legends and composers? Sometimes I wish I lived in the past...like in the Renaissance..."  
  
Pavarotti started to laugh like a drunken demon. Draco stared at him.  
  
"If you want to live in the Renaissance, you most certainly may, little friend! Drink wine, listen to music, and don't use technology!"  
  
Draco smiled. He would actually enjoy that kind of life. Anyway, witches and wizards didn't have technology to begin with, so it wouldn't really be a huge difference in lifestyle.  
  
"Luciano," he began again, "don't you ever feel out of place hanging around with those weirdos?"  
  
"José and Placido?" Pavarotti raised his bushy eyebrows. "Sure, they're odd and they're crazy people, but they're the best friends I have! We're closer than brothers!"  
  
Draco remained silent. Pavarotti and Placido had been incredibly supportive to José during his bout with leukemia. When José got out of the hospital, he went to one of Placido's concerts at the Teatro del Liceo. The elder tenor spotted him when he snuck backstage, and pulled him out on stage to thunderous applause.  
  
Draco flopped down with his back against a cedar tree and stared at the opal-colored sky.  
  
Pavarotti checked his watch.  
  
"Oh dear! We've been gone nearly 30 minutes!"  
  
"So? Is that bad?"  
  
"Never leave José and Placido alone for 30 minutes! Run!"  
  
And so Pavarotti ran.   
  
LATER  
  
Meanwhile, José and Placido Domingo were bludgeoning each other to death with pillows.  
  
"My pillow shall defeat yours!" screamed Placido, hitting José over the head with his pink pillow, which happened to have little purple hearts sewn all over the outside, with the words "I love Queen Elizabeth" embroidered in red.  
  
"Die, pillow!" screamed José, smacking Placido with his own pillow, which was white with the words "Point Given died on the stretch" written in marker on the outside. This was the doing of Pavarotti, who had scrawled that in a fit of rage while he was watching a horse race. The horse named Point Given (#17) died on the stretch and lost the race.  
  
Pavarotti and Draco burst in at this point, and Draco had a very interesting experience. First of all, he learned a little tae kwon do from Luciano Pavarotti, and second of all, he learned what the term "hog-tie" meant.  
  
"C'mere and help me hog-tie Placido, would you, Draco?!" yelled Pavarotti. Draco, always eager to help, scurried over and started wrapping Placido Domingo in ropes.  
  
"Owww!"  
  
"Oops, sorry..."  
  
"José! Luciano! This kid is cutting off my circulation! I'm gonna scream! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"  
  
"Hey, kid?" said José Carreras from the corner where he'd been hog-tied. "Go get a dish towel or something and gag him, huh?"  
  
Draco strolled off and did as he was told. That made everyone's lives more pleasant.  
  
Sometime in the afternoon, Mr. Malfoy turned up out of nowhere, no doubt by Apparation. (teleportation)  
  
Draco ran up and hugged his father. Mr. Malfoy hugged him back.  
  
"Where's José Carreras?" asked Mr. Malfoy. Draco ran away to go fetch him and untie him.  
  
"José Carreras!" squealed Mr. Malfoy.  
  
"Lucius Malfoy!" squealed José.  
  
The two looked on the point of falling to their knees and groveling, but instead instinctively placed their hands on the hilts of their swords. This was the first time Draco noticed that José carried a rapier, just like his father.  
  
"Help! Help! Luciano!" Too late. José and Mr. Malfoy started clashing swords, and Pavarotti was powerless to help. Placido Domingo, for his part, fainted.Pavarotti dragged Placido outside and left him to dream of purple teddy bears.  
  
"Hey, guys...guys?" asked Pavarotti timidly. Mr. Malfoy and José froze in mid-duel and looked at him.  
  
"What?" they spat at him in unison.  
  
"What he's trying to say," said Draco, grinning, "is that there's no use in the two of you fighting, because Uwe Heilmann is better than the both of you combined."  
  
"Uhhh, that's not what I was trying to say at all," muttered Pavarotti.  
  
José Carreras started to cry.  
  
"But my mommy always told me Uwe Heilmann was an evil person who would meet his end in a mouse trap..." he whimpered.  
  
"Uwe Heilmann?" reflected Mr. Malfoy. "Isn't that the guy I almost ran through with my sword because he told me I'd be laughed out of Bayreuth?"  
  
"The very same," acknowledged Draco pleasantly. "Now what say we wait for Uwe Heilmann to show up, hmm?"  
  
Uwe Heilmann flew in through the window on his magic carpet at this point and fell flat on his face because Draco pulled the carpet away.  
  
"Hello!" said Heilmann cheerfully. "Uhhh, where am I?"  
  
"In the lair of the three tenors. Welcome," said José Carreras amiably. "This is Luciano Pavarotti, and I am José Carreras. Placido Domingo isn't here because he's probably unconscious and dreaming of purple teddy bears as of now.  
  
"Who are these insane blonde people?" asked Uwe Heilmann, his eyes widening at the sight of Mr. Malfoy's drawn rapier.  
  
Mr. Malfoy bowed.  
  
"I am Lucius Malfoy, last son of Titus Andronicus, and this is my son, Draco. He's a male colaratura."  
  
Draco grinned at the look of disbelief on Heilmann's face.  
  
"Believe it or I'll prove it, and that won't be pleasant for you."  
  
At this point, Placido Domingo rushed in screaming incoherently. (The vultures had eaten the ropes and freed him.)   
  
"What's wrong?" asked Pavarotti as Placido collapsed into his arms.  
  
Mr. Malfoy stepped backwards in disgust, as did Heilmann. Placido Domingo started to cry.  
  
"Help! There was a spider on the ground! It was terrible and it was black! And it had horrible glowing red eyes! And it was a million bazillion miles tall! And it was going to eat me!"  
  
"Don't worry, Placido," said José. "It was probably just-"  
  
"-just one of our pet mutant tarantulas with a leg span of fifteen feet," finished Mr. Malfoy cheerfully. Placido Domingo screamed like Cecilia Bartoli (she's a soprano) and fainted.  
  
"Wimp," muttered Heilmann.  
  
Pavarotti blushed.  
  
"Ah...yes...Placido's developed many phobias over the years..."  
  
"Geez, won't you need to replace him soon at this rate...?" asked Mr. Malfoy. Pavarotti's eyes clouded with thought for a moment.  
  
"Yeah! Excellent idea! And you, caro il mio amico, are the perfect candidate!" Uwe Heilmann looked very disappointed.  
  
Draco started jumping around hyperactively, whooping like a coon hunter.  
  
"Yes! Yes! My father's gonna be one of the three tenors!" he crowed.  
  
"No, four tenors," corrected José. "What the heck, five!" he went over and hugged Uwe Heilmann, who promptly fainted once Carreras released him.  
  
"Five...?" asked Placido confusedly, waking up.  
  
"Yes," said Pavarotti. "See, Placido, while you were unconscious, we inducted two new members. So now we're the five tenors!"  
  
"Oh no," Draco suddenly found himself thinking. "Oh no! Five tenors! I mean, these people are insane enough with just three of them, but-but-"  
  
Draco screamed loudly.  
  
"Oh my goodness! A male coloratura!" simpered Uwe Heilmann, duly impressed. "Like, oh my God, Jennifer!"  
  
"Yup!" said Draco.  
  
"Maybe we could let him join!" suggested José. "I mean, people are gonna get sick of us if there's no variety!"  
  
"Yes," agreed Pavarotti. "Although tenors do rule the world, it's no fun listening to five of 'em without any variety!"  
  
The five tenors leaned down and hugged Draco. And so, the three tenors became the Five Tenors and the One Male Coloratura. They became world-famous and donated all of the money they made to S.O.I.P.W.A.P. In the end, S.O.I.P.W.A.P. got so much funding that they managed to get the Harry Potter books changed to the Severus Snape books.   
  
As for Draco, he was really really happy! He was so happy he just wanted to sing! So, sing he did:  
  
"Rhine-gold! Rhine-gold! Heia jaheia! Heia jahei!..."  
  
The End  
  
Moral of the story: Yawp! 


End file.
